


L'art pour l'art

by hope_calaris



Category: White Collar
Genre: Con Artists, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_calaris/pseuds/hope_calaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet up in Paris in late summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	L'art pour l'art

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this? This is purely self-indulgent and written on a whim. There's no deeper purpose to this. I blame the charming accent and the imagine of Gordon Taylor and Neal Caffrey strolling the streets of Paris in the summer.

They meet up in Paris in late summer. The sun is bright and blinding, and Paris is still the most beautiful city he’s ever seen. He loves its streets flanked by century old trees, the insane traffic, the architecture. It’s like breathing freely for the first time in years when he exits the airplane in Charles-de-Gaulle, and Gordon meets him with a smile, honestly pleased to see him.

They discuss their plans walking around the Île Saint Louis, eating ice cream from the Maison Berthillon, and Mozzie lets one scoop fall to the cobbled street. They drink overpriced coffee in the Café Marly in the Louvre and argue if the Winged Victory of Samothrace or the Venus of Milo is more beautiful. They pull of the heist without a hitch, and charm everyone while doing so. They make sure there aren’t any trails leading to Neal, and he thanks Gordon with a kiss on the steps leading up to Sacre Coeur as Paris illustrates why it’s called the city of light. He tells him he has to go back to New York, and Gordon nods in understanding, stealing another kiss before he lets him fly back with Mozzie in tow.

They meet again in Berlin, and this time there is no con, and Mozzie is still in New York. Fall colors the lime trees in the center of Berlin, and Neal and Gordon admire the traces of Schinkel’s classicism in a city turned into a puzzle by wars. Neal is enchanted by the warm colors when Gordon shows him inside the unimposing Friedrichwerder Church. It’s like finding a treasure he didn’t know existed and they spend hours walking up and down the gallery. Gordon’s fingers lace with his own, and there’s nothing weird about it, no second thought, and Neal thinks he could get used to this. He smiles when he leans in to kiss Gordon.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Neal isn’t ashamed to admit that he’s thrilled about spending it in Paris. They miss the fireworks, but it plays out in vibrant colors on Gordon’s naked skin, and afterwards Neal can see the blinking Eiffel Tower from the balcony door of their suite. Gordon’s lazily stroking through Neal’s hair, and he feels content, like warmth has settled somewhere deep in his bones, and he didn’t know he could ever feel this way again, not after everything. Gordon doesn’t say anything, but Neal thinks he knows.

They’re in Rome when it snows there for the first time in twenty years, and Neal laughs about the absurdity of it all. He fled the harsh New York winter only to get caught up in the chaos of snowfall in a city totally unprepared for it. Gordon suggests they visit a city used to winter, and they board a plane to Helsinki. They drink Minttu cocoa there, and Neal chases the minty taste on Gordon’s lips with his tongue. It’s getting dark and colder, but Neal doesn’t mind, not with Gordon’s warm hands and laughter to set the world ablaze.

Back in New York, Mozzie is curious, but doesn’t ask. Peter is worried, but he doesn’t say anything. El just smiles at him. And Neal never tells, and not only because Gordon is a charming mystery with whom he can argue about Da Vinci’s mysterious brush strokes, trying to explain his words by trailing his fingers over Gordon’s heated skin, and who shows him parts of the world Neal thought he’d never see again. Gordon is part of that other world, the one Neal had to leave behind when he stepped into his cell, and again when all he had left were an empty wine bottle and an FBI agent wearing the same old suit, and that’s why Gordon never asks him to do another con with him.

They both know it, the same way they know they aren’t meant forever. Neal loves the world, loves its endless beauty and grace, loves the way it reveals its pure magnificence in brilliant colors and smooth forms and raw, unyielding desire for greatness. But he’s found something he loves even more -- a home. A home filled with quiet evenings playing chess with Moz, with listening to June’s stories, with taking Satchmo for a walk and enjoying a fine wine with El afterwards. A home filled with the trust Peter has in him and which Neal will try his hardest never to disappoint again. He can’t give that up again, not for all the cities in the world.

“Merci, merci, merci,” Neal whispers as they stand in front of Van Gogh’s Starry Night over the Rhone in the Musée D’Orsay.

“De rien,” Gordon answers, his smile once again so honest Neal is at the same time baffled how Gordon can ever con anyone, and understands why no one ever blames him.

Their last kiss is tender and slow, and Gordon squeezes his hand gently before he turns to leave.

“Be happy, Neal,” he says.

“I am,” he answers.

_\- fin_


End file.
